Quoth the Raven
by auroraborealus
Summary: Triple H has always been over protective of his young cousin. But when she lands in the WWE he'll have to learn she's not a baby anymore! Some language. OC/John Cena, Triple H, Brock Lesnar, C.M. Punk and assorted other characters. Please let me know your thoughts!
1. New Girl

**Chapter 1**

My cousin opens the door and the smell hits me in the face like an old moldy jockstrap. I manage to not wrinkle my nose at the all too familiar aroma of sour sweat, musty socks and general B.O. God, if there is one thing I have not missed it is the stank of stale gym funk.

_What the hell am I_ doing_ here?_ I wonder for the hundredth time. Am I seriously considering joining the ranks of this sideshow full of muscle bound, spandex clad, 'roid freaks and skinny skanks who looked like they couldn't fight their way out of a wet paper bag?

"Rave?" My cousin looks back at me with impatience; the furrows in his brow making him look more Neanderthal than usual. "Are you coming?"

I sigh.

Shit, as if I had a choice. "Yes, Hunter." I mutter as I dejectedly follow him into the gym.

My name is Raven Skyye. Don't ask me what the hell my parents were smoking when they came up with THAT handle but having a stripper name pretty much precluded me having a career as, say, an astrophysicist. Thanks Mom and Dad.

And I guess it's not quite as bad as my cousin who got stuck with the moniker "Hunter Hearst Helmsley", which may not sound so bad on the surface, but when you grow up in a three room doublewide, pretentious sounding shit like that earns you plenty of ass kickings in school.

Our parents were definitely smoking out of the same bowl when it came to naming their kids. After a while, Hunter decided he was tired of getting his face stomped in on a weekly basis. He joined the wrestling team, started lifting weights and began calling himself 'Triple H', which I still privately think is retarded, sounds like an energy drink, but if it makes him happy who am I to burst his bubble?

Eventually, he got big enough to fight back and by the summer he sent the nastiest bully, Rick Crawford, and three of his slack jawed buddies to the emergency room, he was built like a brick shithouse. No one ever made fun of his name after that, at least not to his face.

That's how I mostly remember Hunter when I was growing up. He's twelve years older than me and by the time I knew what was what he was this big, cool, cousin with giant muscles who took me under his wing, like a pet, and spoiled the crap out of me. When I was eight he'd take me out for ice cream and a movie. When I was ten he'd take me for roller skating and pizza and when I was fourteen he took me to the gym and taught me how to do takedowns and the proper way to throw a punch.

It wasn't always fun and games with Hunter, though. My social life as a teenager sucked. I almost didn't get asked to my senior prom because he scared the shit out of every boy who came near me. It didn't matter if they were just friends or, on the very rare occasion, a boy who was actually interested in me. Once Hunter got a hold of him he was afraid to come within 5 miles of our house. I never actually confirmed it but I once heard he told Justin Hudson, a boy whom I'd had a mad crush on in the 11th grade, that if he so much as laid a finger on me, Hunter would rip his balls off and shove them down his throat. So, yeah, life with Hunter had its ups and downs.

Right now, I couldn't exactly decide which it was. I mean, yes, I needed a job, desperately. The last job I'd had was as a receptionist at a used car dealership and that had been four months ago. My employment came to a sudden end after three weeks when I broke my boss's nose for grabbing my ass. He caused a huge fuss, claiming that he'd accidently brushed against me and threatening to press charges. My parents were _pissed, _not just that I'd fucked up yet another job but that now, after this assault, I'd be pretty much unemployable. I felt bad since they'd obviously thought this job was my ticket to the world of responsible adulthood and out of their basement but I also felt angrily justified. That was no accidental brush, I felt that bastard _squeeze_!

So, once again, my cousin came to the rescue. He visited my old boss and after just 10 minutes he convinced the old perv that he wasn't pressing charges, that in addition to _accidently _brushing against my ass, he also _accidently_ ran into my fist. I was extremely grateful that Hunter had yet again gotten me out of a jam but not so much when he mentioned to my parents he could bring me with him when he went back to the WWE and get me a job.

Now, don't get me wrong, I have mad respect for Hunter and what he does. I've seen him hurt enough times to know that professional wrestling is as demanding a sport as any other, for the men at least.

What I did take offense to was that he thought I'd fit in well as a 'Diva'. I'd followed Hunter's career since the beginning, even got to go on the road with him a few times and the Diva's matches were always my cue to go get a beer, or a snack or take that piss I'd been holding for the last half hour. I've honestly never seen such a group of dumb cows in my life. 9 out of 10 of them were former 'models' or 'dancers' more interested in using their WWE exposure as a springboard to slut it up in Playboy than be actual fighters. On a bad day I could wipe the floor with them.

The few women who were actually respectable wrestlers I could count on one hand, and even they were usually tarted up like the baby hoes in Toddlers and Tiaras. Is this what Hunter saw for me?

"Just try it out. You might like it," he said. He looked at my expression and amended, "Well, you might learn to tolerate it."

So, that's how I ended up here, following him into a musty, smelly gym filled with sweaty, grunting men. Ugh, close your eyes and it sounds like a male orgy. Hunter thought it would be good to introduce his 'baby cousin' around. I wish he would stop doing me favors.

"Well, let's see who's in here today. Look there's The Big Show. You remember him, don't you?"

He leads me over to a bench where a huge, behemoth of a man is bench pressing a ridiculous amount of weight. I eyeball at least 500 pounds maybe more. With a giant grimace and grunting heave he manages to get the weight up and his spotters help guide the bar back on the rack. I wonder if he's trying to give himself a hernia.

He sits up and grabs a towel to vigorously mop the sweat off of his bald head. I flinch away from the little drops of perspiration that fly off of him, doing a little dance to avoid getting sweated on. I mean, yeah, I don't want to be rude to this enormous man but, sweat, eww, gross!

Hunter puts his hand in the small of my back and nudges me forward. "Show," he says, "I want to introduce you to someone."

The Big Show looks me up and down like he's a bear and I'm a giant honeycomb. A big, leery smile crosses his lips. God, why were all men the same? Am I gonna have to break this giant's nose my first day here? "Well, hello there." He says. He talks like he has a mouthful of spit.

"Hi," I say, giving him a thin smile, "We've actually met before, you know."

"Really?" He says, his eyes bouncing from my face to my chest and back again, "I think I'd remember if I ever met _you_."

Smooth, Show, real smooth.

"Yeah, "I say, "I must have been about 14. I was visiting Hunter, you took a picture with me sitting on your shoulder."

He freezes in the middle of feeling me up with his eyes and looks back at my face. "Wha-? Are you-"

"Yes," Hunter says, his voice kind of stiff, "This is my little cousin, Raven."

The Big Show's face blushes scarlet. I don't think I've ever seen a man turn so red. "Oh!" He sticks his hand out awkwardly. I gingerly reach out and shake it. His palm is damp and he's got fingers like bananas.

"Uh, of course I remember you!" He says, unable to meet my eyes. "You've…grown up." He muttered.

"Thanks for noticing," I tell him sweetly, enjoying his embarrassment. Maybe he wasn't all that bad. He was just being a guy and after all, weren't guys supposed to think about sex like every 8 seconds?

Before he could say anything else, someone grabs me around the waist from behind and slaps a hand over my eyes.

"Guess who?" says a voice that I'd recognize anywhere.

"Hmmmmm," I say, stalling to enjoy a few extra seconds of his arms around me,"could it be my boy toy?"

He laughs and spins me around, giving me a hug big enough to lift me off my feet. It's Shawn Michaels, Hunter's best friend and the guy I've crushed on since the first time I laid eyes on him.

I was 14 years old and had gone to hang out with Hunter for two weeks over the summer. He introduced me to this gorgeous guy with flowing honey blond hair, a cocky smile and the cutest ass I'd ever seen. No, seriously! I was only 14 and didn't know until then that a guy's ass could even _be_ cute. Seeing Shawn's perky butt in those tight pants he always wore made me want to bounce quarters off of it. But he was almost twice my age and treated me like a kid sister while I cried into my pillow every night, just pining for him.

I went to visit Hunter during the summer for the next two years and each year it was the same. Shawn was very nice to me but saw me as nothing more than Hunter's little cousin. I have to admit that I developed a bit of an obsession with him. When I was sixteen I snuck a look at that Playgirl he posed naked for and then couldn't look him straight in the face for a month without blushing. Gradually, as I grew up and got to know him better, my obsession went away. I still liked him a lot but he was Hunter's friend and really, too old for me.

But damn, he's still a cutie! He's older, scruffier, a little worn, but still has that same cocky, don't-give-a-shit grin. Ah well, a girl never completely gets over her first love. Does she?

Shawn puts me back down and holds me out at arm's length,"It's been a long time, Raven! I hardly recognized you! Hunter tells me you're going to be working with us; you're going to be a Diva?"

I roll my eyes. I hate that word. What, were all the women wrestlers in this company supposed to be spoiled, demanding bitches?

"If you mean, am I here to try my hand at _wrestling_, then yes. Hunter says that I can try out and if Vince McMahon likes me, then I guess I'll be a.…diva."

"Honey, how can he not like you? You'll knock him out!" Shawn says. Aw, bless his cute little heart.

"Hopefully, not literally," Hunter says under his breath. His cell phone rings. The ringtone peals out Justin Bieber's 'Boyfriend'.

I give him a look that makes him drop his eyes and mutter something about Stephanie liking that song before he snaps the phone open and gruffly answers, "Hello?"

I grin and shake my head. From his taste in women_, Chyna_, to his extremely close friendship with Shawn this isn't the first time he's made me suspect he swings more ways than a barn door in a high wind. But he's my cousin and I love him.

"OK, we'll be right there." He snaps the phone shut. "That was Vince. He's ready to see us."

Shit, so soon? I feel the wild urge to make a break for it, go running out the gym door into the fresh air outside waving my arms and gibbering like a lunatic. But I can't do that to Hunter. He's no longer just a wrestler, he's also an executive for the company. He lucked out and married the boss's daughter and got himself a nice shiny office and use of the McMahon private jet. I can't make him look bad.

I nod. Damn you, Hunter, for putting me in this spot. He motioned toward the door with his head.

"C'mon. I've got a car waiting out front."

I follow him out the door like I'm going to my own execution.

Time to go beard the dragon.


	2. I have to do what?

The entire ride over to the WWE executive offices Hunter is babbling on and on about how to act, what to say and what not to do in front of Vince McMahon. Meanwhile I do my best to look interested and nod at the appropriate places while wondering to myself just how fucking stupid does he think I am?

I mean, I'm touched, truly, that he's obviously gone to so much trouble for me but honestly, this 'let's treat Raven like she's too young and stupid to function' shit has got to stop

The car pulls up to a big glass building, nothing really fancy and pretty nondescript except for the giant WWE flag flying on top of the building like the colors of a pirate ship. I get out of the car and stretch, bouncing on the tips of my toes. God, I need a massage. Maybe I'll go hunt up Shawn after this interview is over. Friends can give friends deep sensual massages, right?

Hunter leads me into the building and to a bank of elevators. As we wait I notice how respectfully people treat him, everyone who passes by greets him deferentially. They call him "Mr. Helmsley" and in spite of myself I'm kind of impressed by the fact he's sort of a hot shit around here.

We ride the elevator to what feels like the top floor. Hunter leads the way to a set of double mahogany doors at the end of the hall. Inside is not Vince McMahon's office like I'd thought, but like a _reception_ area to his office. It's very modern looking, all glass and chrome with giant framed posters of past WWE events on the wall. Hunter goes up to the bleach blond secretary with her fake tits falling out of her dress. She gives him a toothpaste white smile. The veneers on her teeth are slightly too big for her mouth and make her look like a horse.

"Can you tell Vince I'm here?" He says.

"Certainly," She gets up from her chair and sashays over to the office door, tapping on it before cracking it open. Her dress is so tight I could practically see what she ate for lunch.

"I see old Vince likes his secretaries with really big…brains." I whisper to Hunter.

"Behave," he growls.

I give him my sweetest smile.

"Just trying to figure out the best way to get this job," I say adjusting my boobs and earning myself another scowl. I sigh, when did my cousin turn into such a damn stick in the mud?

"Mr. McMahon will see you," Blondie says gesturing serenely toward the door like she's Vanna fucking White.

"Just follow my lead," Hunter murmurs to me as we enter the office.

I'd made up my mind that no matter what I saw on the other side of that door, I'd keep my composure and not stand around gawking like some slack jawed hick up to the city for the first time. It was a close thing though.

The room looks like a cross between Donald Trump's apartment and a high class whore house. The walls are painted this deep, velvety black with gold crown moldings and Roman columns in the corners. The carpet is deep red and so plush I can feel my boots sink into it with every step. There are decorative niches sunk into the walls, each one holding a marble statuette of what I assume are depictions of ancient Greek wrestlers in different poses. Elegant gold plated lamps sit in the corners of the room. The kicker is on the floor, an entire lion skin rug.

I feel my mouth start to drop open and I snap it back shut, trying to look nonchalant, like I saw this sort of shit everyday. Gold plated lamps? Big deal. The ones back home are _solid_ gold, bitch.

"Hunter, come in." Vince McMahon is seated behind a giant black desk. The entire surface of the desk is a touch screen computer; there are five different windows open at once, stock tickers, and videos and what looks like a video call on hold. His plush chair is more like a throne, black button tufted leather affair with the entwined initials VM monogrammed on the back. Does he think he's god damned Tony Montana?

"Vince," Hunter says urging me forward, "I'd like you to meet my cousin, Raven."

Vince stands up and offers me a hand across the desk. I grip it firmly and meet his eyes as I shake his hand. His palm is warm and powdery dry. He's got a $300 haircut and is wearing some cologne that smells vaguely spicy and ostentatiously expensive.

"Well, hello Raven!" He says in his booming stage voice, "Hunter has told me a lot about you!"

"Only the bad stuff, I hope." I say as I take one of the chairs across the desk without being asked.

Vince laughs like I just made the funniest joke in the world and sits back down. Hunter shoots me a pained look which I completely ignore.

"So, I hear you're interested in joining the WWE?" Vince asks jovially. His voice is too friendly; he's trying too hard to sound like everyone's favorite uncle.

"I've thought about it." I say, casually looping my leg over the arm of the chair, "I came to check out your set up, see if it's right for me."

Vince's eyebrows disappear up into his hair as he gives Hunter a sidewise look, "You came to see if _we're_ right for _you_?"

Hunter hastily interjects, "Uh, I think she just means she wants to see if she can measure up, Vince. Which, I'm sure she can."

"Oh, no," I say blithely, "I know I can cut it here. Honestly, I've seen some of your Diva's and I'm kinda wondering if you're actually interesting in have a serious women's division or just interested in selling WWE Diva bikini calendars."

Vince still has a smile on his face but I'm not fooled. Behind his 'aw shucks' façade, I can see his beady little eyes studying me, taking my measure. This is a man who's lived in character so long that it is second nature to him but underneath he's as shrewd a businessman as there is. He'd have to be to have built this billion dollar empire.

"Well, young lady," he says"I hope you understand that you are being given an opportunity few people ever get. Do you even have any experience wrestling?"

I shrug, and open my mouth but before I can even say anything Hunter speaks for me,"She's wrestled in some backyard feds. And I've trained her since she was a teenager."

Vince nods, "Hmmm, I'm sure if it comes down to it we can send her off for development, that is…if we decide to keep her. You're lucky Hunter is your cousin and my son-in-law."

I nod solemnly, "Oh, I've very grateful for this opportunity, "I say with a perfectly straight face, "Especially since I can tell that you normally don't subscribe to nepotism and all."

Vince looks at me for a moment and surprisingly, I see a genuine twinkle in his eye, as if he's actually amused by my snarkiness.

"Raven," he says my name slowly, as if tasting it. "We might have to change that. We had a wrestler named Raven once a while back. We wouldn't want to confuse the fans."

OK, that wasn't going to happen. I've already put up with enough crap with my real name. At least I'm used to it by now. He wasn't going to pin some bullshit like 'Kelly Kelly' on me. I stand up and gesture at myself.

"No offense, Mr. McMahon. But do you think anyone's ever going to mistake _me_ for Scott Levy?" I ask pointedly.

Vince is looking me up and down, but not in the usual way guys check me out. He's looking at me more like I'm a horse he's buying, his eyes gauging what I'm worth and how much he can get out of me. Frankly, it's creeping me out.

"Hmmmm," he says, "Good point." He nods at Hunter, "OK, I've seen enough. Give her a five show contract. Book her in the Diva Battle Royale on Raw. We'll see how she goes over."

He looks back at me and gives me a smile like a cat stalking a canary. "I think you'll find the way we do things around here quite simple. You either swim with the sharks, or you sink like a stone."

As I look at him, I suddenly realize which one he's expecting me to do.

Hunter is standing up, "Thanks a lot Vince." He says, as he starts pushing me toward the door.

"Mmmmm," Vince says as we leave his office.

Hunter turns on me as soon as the office door closes behind us.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he explodes," I had you in and you go and pull that crap? Five shows? Do you understand that you'll never get over on just five shows, especially when he'll probably have you buried in dark matches now?"

I grimace, "I'm sorry, Hunter," I say. I kind of am, but not enough to go back in and kiss Vince's withered old ass.

Hunter puts a hand on his forehead, fretting like an old woman who's lost her cat, "I was going to ask for a minimum of fifteen shows, 10 of them Raws or Smackdowns. That would have given you at least a month of TV exposure, time to try to get over. Now you got _maybe_ two weeks."

I throw up my hands, "I said I'm sorry, Hunter. I really am. I wanted this to go well. But, that guy, he's…he's an asshole." I catch one of his hands, just so he won't start wringing them. "Hunter, five shows, I can do this. He said to put me on Raw on Monday. I can make an impression. I can make him want to keep me."

Hunter shakes his head, "Rave, you're going to be in the Battle Royale with nine other diva's. It's going to be hard to stand out. And even if you do, after what you pulled in there there's only one way Vince won't get rid of you after five shows."

OK, well, so there's still a chance. "How's that?" I ask.

"Win the Diva's championship." Hunter says without much enthusiasm. "He'd never let you walk with the belt."

"Oh," I say.

Maybe I am in deep shit after all.

* * *

Monday night, Hunter drops me off at the talent entrance at the arena and goes off to his office to do executivey things. I feel like I'm being dropped off at my first day at a new school.

"Try to make some friends." Hunter urges me, "I know that's not your forte but it is good to have people who will have your back."

I smile patiently,"OK, Dad." He can be so cute when he's worried about me.

He gives me a kiss on the forehead, "Good luck tonight." he says before a guy with a huge stack of paperwork accosts him and they head off toward his office.

I stand there for a second, looking around, not really sure what to do. Hunter had told me to go meet with wardrobe first thing, he'd instructed them to come up with some outfits for me but he must have forgotten that I have no clue where anything is. I wander around the backstage area trying not to look too stupid but I'm getting more and more frustrated. Finally, I approach a woman who's headed toward the locker area, wheeling a small suitcase behind her.

"Excuse me." I say as polite as pie, "Could you tell me where I can find wardrobe?"

She turns in annoyance and I recognize her immediately. She's the 'diva' known as Layla. She looks me up and down before giving me some major bitchface.

"I'm sorry, but I can't help you. Why don't you go run to Triple H and ask him?" She turns on her heel and stomps away leaving me staring after her wondering what crawled up her ass.

"Well, fuck you too." I mutter. Yep, this _definitely_ feels like the first day of school.

"Do you need some help?" a deep voice says from behind me.

I turn around and fall in love.

I know who John Cena is, of course. I've seen him a million times on TV and his mug is plastered everywhere. Seriously, if aliens were to land on earth and visit the WWE building, they'd think it was some kind of church dedicated to the religion of worshiping John Cena. But TV, magazine pictures, action figures, 20 foot tall billboards do not do the justice of seeing the man in person.

You known when you go to a really good buffet with like shit loads of your favorite foods and you have a hard time deciding what to eat first? Well, it's like my eyes are starving and this man is the buffet. He is breakfast, lunch, dinner and dessert. My eyes skip from his muscular chest to his washboard abs to his gorgeous blue eyes to his bulging biceps back down to his abs. Ahhh, he has the abs of a Greek god.

He shifts a little and kinda coughs, clearing his throat. "Um, miss?"

I realize I've been standing there eye raping him for a good 20 seconds. Am I drooling? Maybe.

"Oh, uh, yeah." I say, having totally forgotten what I was doing in the first place. "I need to find...um...the place...um...with like...clothes..."damn it, I sound like a total bumbling, stumbling fool.

"Wardrobe?" he asks helpfully.

"Yes! That's it!" I start to stick out my hand, then realize I can't remember my name to introduce myself, so I pull it back, but I don't want to be rude, so I stick it out again. I must look like i'm having some kind of seizure.

John Cena shakes my hand, looking amused, "Hi, I'm John Cena."

"I know," I gush giddily. Oh god, this is just getting better and better. "I'm, uh, I'm..."

"You're Triple H's cousin," John Cena says helpfully.

"Raven!" I yelp. OK, so now I sound like I have Tourette's. I take a deep breath and try to compose myself. "I mean, my name is Raven. Raven Skyye."

Cena laughs, god he's got a sexy laugh,"Nice to meet you Raven Skyye." he says. I feel a thrill run through me. He said my name!

"Who knew an ugly bastard like Triple H could have a cousin as pretty as you?" he says. Oh my god, I could die right now and be perfectly happy.

"Oh, uh, haha," Wow, I must be knocking his socks off with my witty conversation. At least I manage to keep my eyes mostly on his face. On his perfect, square jawed, dreamy eyed face.

"Well, I can show you where wardrobe is. Come on." He takes my hand and begins leading me down the hall. I kind of float along behind him in a daze. He's holding my hand. Well, he's actually kind of leading me along like you do an invalid but still, it's skin to skin contact.

He makes some small talk as we walk down the hall. I don't remember much of it but I tried to nod and laugh in all the right places. Too soon he was showing me through a small door into a room where wardrobe personnel bustled around busily, repairing costumes, getting outfits ready.

"Here you are,"he says, letting my hand go. Aww, to soon! "Good luck tonight, Raven."

"Thank you," I manage as he gives me a wave and goes on his way.

I lean against the wall, remember to start breathing again. Oh, my, my. Maybe there is a reason for me to want to stay here after all.

A short little man with bleach blond hair approaches me. "Are you Triple H's niece?" he asks.

"His cousin," I say, "Hi, I'm Raven."

"Nice to meet you dear." He says, "I'm Damon, and Triple H asked me to make up some outfits for you?"

I nod numbly, still thinking of John Cena's smile.

Damon leads me over to a rack, "He told me that you were more interested in function than fashion, so I made up some simple ensembles. Mostly long tights a few simple tank tops and some good, sturdy boots.

I look at the clothes, simple, plain. I think of John Cena. These would never do.

"Um, Damon?" I say. "These are great, thank you, but I was just wondering..."

He looks at me over the tops of his glasses,"Yes?"

"Could you...could you make me look gorgeous?"I ask.

He stares at me for a moment, then steps back and looks at me, really taking me in for the first time. A slow smile spreads across his lips. "Oh honey," he says," By the time I'm done with you, we'll make those other diva's look like 5 dollar streetwalkers."

* * *

I wait nervously backstage for the Diva's Battle Royale to start. I don't normally get stage fright but right now I feel like I could puke all over my high heeled boots. A production assistant shows me where to stand to wait for my cue. As the new girl on the block, I'm to be one of the first ones out to the ring.

Damon had tossed the tights and tank tops and squeezed me into what had to be the tightest leather pants in the world. The top looked like a leather corset, with metal eyelets threaded with leather laces that pulled tight and pushed my boobs together and up. He gave me a studded leather collar and wristbands and tied my hair back in a high, slicked back pony tail. He advised me to keep my makeup dark and dramatic. I look like a cross between a biker bitch and a dominatrix. I have to say, I look pretty bad ass.

Thing is even though I'm dressed sluttier than I ever have been in my entire life, I still look less slutty than most of the other Divas. And at least I don't have to worry about a skimpy top getting ripped off during the match.

I take a deep breath as I hear my music hit and start down the ramp.

Here I go.


	3. Here comes the pain!

I strut down the ramp trying to look fierce and bad ass and not fall on my face at the same time. The boots are super hot and but painfully tall. At this moment I feel like strangling the sadistic bastard who invented stiletto heels, strangling him with my bare hands.

The crowd looks deathly bored and I can't really blame them. Not only is this an undercard match but it's a _diva's _match and they've never even heard of me. Hell, _I_ wouldn't stay to watch me. I'd be hunting for the beer kiosk and maybe a certain John Cena so we could rise above the hate together. But, I digress. At this point the only way I'm going to get the crowd's attention is if I flounce down the ramp naked.

I'm coming out first because as a newbie I'm expected to be easy pickings for the more experienced divas. Ha, not that I've ever been easy pickings for anyone. Not only did Hunter teach me basic wrestling when I was a teenager, I went through a phase after high school where I was convinced I was going to be the first female MMA star. Hunter hooked me up with the best trainers available and I worked my ass off at it. Slowly, after about three years, it sank in that there was no interest in women's MMA and I was never going to get anywhere with it.

The audience pretty much ignores me as I walk down to the ring except for the few perverts who take the time to leer at me in my skin tight leather. I see one guy in front with a beer in his hand wiggling his tongue at me and laughing with his buddies. I feel my face turn red. This is humiliating. I'm about one step above wrestling in a jello pit wearing a string bikini.

I climb into the ring as the next Diva is announced, an underdressed hag named Aksana. She gets a small pop, partly because she is dressed waaay sluttier than me. She's wearing what looks like a mesh body suit over teeny tiny bra and panties and the drunk, horny, male demographic of the audience heartily voice their approval.

Hunter had given me the general idea of how these battle royales worked. It's a basic elimination match. Get your ass thrown out of the ring and you're out. Easy peasy. Technically, I'm supposed to wait until all the Divas are in the ring for the match to start. But hell, I'm here to make an impression and I was never one for following the rules anyway.

The second both of Aksana's feet are in the ring, I hit her with a superkick to the face that almost takes her head off and flings her back against the ropes. Thank you Shawn Michaels, not only for teaching me that move but for letting me watch you do kicks in tight pants for an entire afternoon! I grab her leg, heave her over the ropes and out she goes, squealing like a pig as she falls to the floor.

The crowd seems as stunned as Aksana. It took me all of 5 seconds to throw her out of the ring. Yeah, I cheated, but so what? I intend to win this match and I've got 7 more of these bitches to dump over the ropes. I'll only get the advantage of surprise the first time. I back up a little to the center of the ring, shifting my weight on my aching toes and waiting for the next Diva.

The next one up is Kelly Kelly. She comes out looking like Porn Star Barbie. Why do these chicks think treating their faces like a coloring book is a good look? Just as I thought, she'd seen me knock Aksana out of the ring and was approaching more cautiously, like I'm a dog that's going to bite her if she'd not careful.

I let her get in the ring and she does a quarter circle around me before trying to lock up with me. I feint, drop to the mat and sweep her feet out from under her. She lands on her ass and I drop kick her in the back of the head. I use my feet to roll her out of the ring as she's writhing around on the mat, holding her head.

I hear a yell from behind me and turn in time to see Eve flipping across the ring doing some kind of ridiculous cartwheel, back spring move.

Really? Does she think I'm going to just stand here and let her do whatever she's thinking she's going to do to me? She must have run down the ramp, trying to get the jump on me while I was busy with Kelly Kelly.

I simply sidestep and she goes flying past me. I plant a boot in the small of the back sending her slamming into the turn buckle.

The crowd is starting to take notice. I can hear Jerry Lawyer going crazy at the announce table, yelping like an old woman who's accidently wandered into a male strip club. Over the sound system I hear Beth Phoenix's music and know I only have a few seconds at best to put Eve away.

I jump on the middle rope, grab two handfuls of Eve's extensions and start slamming her face first into the turn buckle over and over. The crowd loves it! They count 1! 2! 3! 4! 5!

I let go and Eve reels backward. I dropkick her and she goes tumbling through the ropes just in time for me to get thrown down by Beth Phoenix.

Beth Phoenix, wow chick has some _arms_ on her. I am way impressed, even if she's dressed like some hybrid Wonder Woman/Xena Warrior Princess. I know my advantage is completely gone now. She is my best competition so far. No way am I going to just bop her out of the ring before the rest of the Divas show up.

She blind sides me and I can't do a damn thing about it as she hits me with a double leg take down that slams me down on my back. She doesn't waste any time getting on top of me and hitting me repeatedly in the head. And I'm not talking about your usual diva bitch slaps. She is punching me like I stole from her grandma. All I can do is cover up and try to avoid getting hit in the face. Eventually, she gets tired of hitting me and gets up to stomp me for a while before scooping me up and slamming me back down to the mat. Did I mention girl has some arms on her?

Getting my ass kicked is so not part of my battle plan but that's exactly what's happening. I need a second to regroup but she doesn't let up. She pulls me up to my feet by the head and starts smacking me. Damn it, this is not happening! I blindly block one of her blows and smack her back. This really pisses her off and she shoves me hard. I hit the ropes and bounce back.

Then she makes a mistake. She bends over, totally telegraphing a backdrop. Beth must be so used to fighting divas who can't counter for shit that she's gotten sloppy and that one second of sloppiness is all I need. I grab hold of the top rope to keep from flying right into her clutches and kick her square in the head. She staggers.

I jump on her back.

I slap a rear naked choke on her ass and it's done. It takes about 10 seconds for her to pass out like Lindsay Lohan at an open bar.

I push Beth's limp body out of the ring, panting slightly. I'm getting winded. I've gotta bump up my cardio. My head hurts and my damn feet are killing me. I'd lose the boots if I had the time. I look up toward the entrance, wondering where the rest of the pack of Divas are. They should have all entered the match by now.

The Titantron is silent but soon I see someone emerging from the entrance. It's not another Diva. It's a pudgy, balding man with the horseshoe of hair he's got left scraped into a thin little ponytail. Who the hell is this?

He struts down the ramp to the ring, arms swinging, a look of self righteous indignation on his piggy face. He steps into the ring and walks around me, looking me up and down and applauding mockingly.

"Very, very impressive," he says in this totally bullshit voice. He sure doesn't sound very impressed.

"Who the hell are you?" I ask rudely.

"WHO AM I?" He suddenly yells in my face, showering me with spit and breath putrid enough to gag a maggot. I have to grab my own leg to keep from popping this twat in the face.

"WHO AM I? I am Paul Heyman! I am the man who revolutionized this business. I represent the biggest name in the WWE. But the real question is who are you? Who are YOU and what are you doing here?"

I wipe my face, and take a step back so I can get some fresh air. "My name is Raven Skyye," I tell him evenly. "And I'm here to..."

"Raven Skyye," he sneers, "Don't you mean Raven Skyye _Helmsley_?"

I stare at him, OK, yes, I am. So what? What's his point?

"Why are you so interested in who I am?" I ask.

"I think that it's only fair that all these fans know the truth." He says pointing out at the audience, "The only reason you are here is because of your last name. I think it's only fair that they realize you are just another in a long line of parasites riding on the coat tails of your cousin. Triple H has always been a lowlife schemer, a bottom feeder just waiting to leech off of anyone he could. He's a third rate wrestler who pulled his ass up by marrying Vince's skanky daughter and has used his back stage politics to surround himself with a bevy of ass kissers.

You're just another white trash relative Triple H has dragged out of the trailer park. You're nobody! You've come out of nowhere and landed a cushy WWE contract while my client has been treated like garbage by the so called COO. Triple H will never be a third of the man Brock is. Brock is the real deal. He is the biggest star this company has ever had and Triple H is just a jealous, conniving, overrated corporate rat who-"

OK, I've heard enough. My fist shoots out and nails him in the mouth. He yowls in pain and I tackle him, putting his tubby ass into the mat. Hunter may annoy me from time to time, but I'm not going to stand here and let this bald little twerp spew off about him like this. I straddle him like a bar stool, grab his wrist and twist it behind him, putting him in a kimura.

"Anything else you'd like to say about my family, asshole?" I hiss in his ear.

Heyman is screaming and thrashing like I'm ripping his arm off. Can we say _drama queen_? I'm not exactly breaking his arm, even though I could if I really tried. What do I do with him now?

Then, from the entrance, coming like he's been shot out of a cannon, charges a huge muscle bound beast built like a fucking tank. There are plenty of big men in the WWE, but this guy is in a class by himself. He's about 300 pounds of solid muscle, as broad as he is tall and looks like he could bench press a tractor.

My mouth literally drops open. Holy shit! What the hell is _that_? He looks vaguely familiar but I don't have time to think where I have seen him before as I drop Heyman and try to scramble to my feet. I trip over the damn boots. I turn my ankle and land hard on my ass.

Owwww! My ankle!

Owwww! My tailbone!

I use the ring ropes to haul myself up to my feet as this angry ox hits the ring. I feel the entire canvas bounce as he jumps in with both feet. It's like being at the epicenter of a damn earthquake.

I'm not one of these stupid bitches who think they can stand and bang with a guy more than twice their size, especially one that looks like a hairless albino gorilla on steroids. I know my limits and there's no chance I'm going to last even one second with this animal.

He walks up to me, his pale eyes pinning me to the spot. Heyman is back on his feet and he's yelling incoherently, pointing at me. I back off slowly, limping badly on my gimpy ankle until my back is against the corner post. I've got to get out of here but I never have the chance. Before I can even think about moving, he lunges, scoops me up like a five year old and drapes me facedown over his broad shoulders, holding me tight by the crotch and the back of the neck. He is wicked fast for such a lummox. I have no idea what he's going to do to me but I'm guessing it's not going to be good.

Shit. I close my eyes. Goodbye world. I guess I'll never live to see my dream of becoming the middle in a Shawn Michaels/John Cena sandwich...

From far away I hear the crowd suddenly go apeshit and then Hunter's in the ring. He hits the gorilla in the gut with a steel chair. He staggers a little but doesn't drop me. Hunter hits him again, square in the head. The chair makes a satisfying 'whack!' against his skull and the gorilla drops me to the mat. I roll out of the way so I don't get stomped to death by their feet as Hunter and the ox go at it, punching each other furiously like rock 'em sock 'em robots.

Hunter is still wearing his jacket and tie, as if he'd sprinted out from his office in the back the moment he saw this shit go down. The gorilla pushes him up against the corner post and drives his huge shoulder into Hunter's ribs over and over again. I see the steel chair lying in the ring, pick it up and bash the ox over the back. It barely fazes him but provides enough of a distraction for Hunter to squeeze out of the corner and kick the ox in the mid section. I hear someone yelling right in my ear. A hand grabs my arm.

It's Heyman. I almost forgot about him. He's hopping around like a grasshopper on a hot sidewalk, his limp little ponytail flying with each jump. I get the sudden urge to hit him in the face repeatedly. I bring the steel chair back and whack him in the forehead. He drops like a brained pig and I land on him punching his head until my knuckles start bleeding.

He's still yelling and squealing trying to turtle up to protect his head. Ugh, he's so annoying! Why won't he shut the fuck up? I wrap my arm around his neck, tuck his head under and put him into a guillotine choke. Finally, he stops yelling. He stops moving. Hell, if I keep this on him long enough, he'll stop breathing, stop living!

Hunter clotheslines the big beast out of the ring and he falls out right in front of me. I hear his head thunk on the ring apron. He staggers around a bit, shaking his head, then seems to realize what is happening to Heyman and reaches in, snags his foot and pulls him out of the ring. I hold on for a second and get dragged along with Heyman across the mat but I decide I don't want to end up on the same side of the ropes as that monster and let go.

Hunter has thrown off his jacket and ripped off his shirt. He's still built like a brick shithouse. His face is red with fury as he stomps around the ring cussing up a storm and demanding the ox get back in the ring so they can settle this RIGHT NOW!

I stare at him in awe. I haven't seen this side of him in a long time. With his hair pulled loose from the prissy ponytail he usually wears it in he looks like Thor, God of Thunder, about to lay motherfucking waste to his foes.

He's not Hunter anymore. He's _Triple H._

Heyman has come to and is staggering up the ramp shrilly screaming curses at us, threatening to get his lawyer or some shit like that. The gorilla bristles, looks like he wants to jump back in and brawl some more but Heyman says something to him and the two of them back up the ramp and disappear backstage.

Hunter glares after them for a moment before dropping to his knees next to me.

"Rave, are you OK?" he asks.

I nod, "Yes, but I think I sprained my ankle."

"Can you walk?" He helps me to my feet and I try my weight on my left ankle. I grimace.

"Yes." I lie.

Hunter sees the look on my face. "No, you can't. I'll carry you." He starts to pick me up.

I dig my fingers into his shoulder, hard, "Don't you dare," I hiss. I am _not_ going to be carried off on my first night on Raw.

"I can walk. Just...help me make it back stage." I whisper, "Please"

Thank god he doesn't argue for once. He slings my arm over his shoulder, practically carrying me anyway, but at least it looks like I'm walking back on mostly my own power. The crowd is going insane. He looks around and says to me under his breath "Shit, this might actually work out for you. The fans love it!"

I give him a look and we pause at the top of the ramp to turn and face the crowd. He holds my hand up and the crowd cheers even louder. I don't know if it's for me or for him but I'll take it.

As soon as we're out of sight backstage, Hunter picks me up and carries me toward his office. This time I don't protest. My ankle hurts so much I'm afraid it might be broken.

Hunter barks orders at a couple of security crew as they walk by "I want Lesnar and Heyman off of the premises! Find them and make sure they're gone!"

Lesnar, I suddenly put the name together with the beast.

"_Lesnar_? That was Brock _Lesnar_? Holy shit." I raise my head and look Hunter in the face, "Why the hell is Brock Lesnar coming after me?"

"It's my fault," Hunter says grimly, "I should have warned you but I never thought they'd go after you. Lesnar and I...are not getting along. That arrogant punk thinks he can just walk in here and own the place. He jumped me and broke my arm a couple of months ago. He couldn't cut it in the UFC and he's not gonna cut it here either."

"Well, fuck. Hunter," I say, "I nearly shit myself when he came busting out of the back. I still don't understand why, if he's got a beef with you, he's coming after me?"

Hunter looks sheepish, "I've been trying to antagonize him to get into the ring with me." he admits. "I kinda punched Heyman in the face a few weeks back." He pauses.

"Twice,"he adds then pauses again,

"And then Steph beat the shit out of Heyman a couple of weeks ago. He's trying to get back at me through you."

Greeaatt. This is just what I need.

"You know," Hunter says, "that was a pretty ironic, you putting Heyman in that kimura. That's what Lesnar did to me when he broke my arm."

"I should have twisted if off like a drumstick. Did you see how fast Heyman went limp when I put the guillotine on him?" I giggle.

Hunter actually cracks a smile.

We're at his office. He kicks the door open and lays me down on the leather couch. "What hurts?' he asks.

I try to flex my foot. "My ankle hurts and I think I broke my ass."

Hunter helps me pull my boot off and gently feels my rapidly swelling ankle. "It doesn't look good. I'd better get a trainer to take a look at it."

"And some ice" I call as he disappears out the door. I lean my head back and close my eyes. I'm suddenly exhausted and achy all over.

Someone drops a cold icepack on my ankle.

"Ohh, thank you," I say. Damn, did Hunter move fast or what?

"Not bad for your first night," a deep, sexy voice says. My eyes pop open. That is _not _Hunter. It's John Cena and oh my god he's standing less than a foot away from me, looking at me with those dreamy blue eyes. His incredible abs are right in my face. I want to rub them and make a wish.

My heart does flip flop gymnastics in my chest.

"Thanks," I manage to say.

"You looked good out there," he continues. Does he mean the match or my skin tight leather outfit? Does it matter?

"Uh, thanks," I say again. Oh, why do I have to be such a mumbling fool around this man?

"You have some sweet moves. And the way you laid out Heyman with that choke," he shakes his head, laughing, "I really think the Diva's division could use some new blood like you."

"I've only got a five show contract," There! I managed to say more than five coherent words to him. It's a start. "I kind of pissed Vince off when I met him. I don't think he likes me."

Cena shrugs his massive shoulders. I'm transfixed by the way his muscles ripple beneath his smooth skin,"Get over like that every night, and Vince won't care. Let me tell you a secret, as long as you make him money, Vince could care less whether he likes you or you like him."

He gives me smile and a wink, "Well, I've got a match but I'll be seeing you around Raven Skyye."

"Bye," I say breathlessly as he walks out the door.

And suddenly my bruised tailbone doesn't matter anymore. My sprained, possibly broken ankle? I could give a flying shit. Cena _watched my match and he liked what he saw!_

I flop back on the couch.

"Wheeeeeeee!" I squeal, kicking my feet in the air with glee.

"What are you so happy for?" Hunter asks suspiciously as he walks back into the office. He's brought a trainer who kneels to look at my ankle.

I open my mouth to gush about Cena but then remember how Hunter's reacted toward every other guy I've liked in my entire life. I can just picture him cornering Cena and threatening to rip his balls off. How would _that_ go over? Maybe I should keep my big mouth shut for a while.

"Nothing," I say giving him my most innocent look.

This only makes him more suspicious. He knows me well enough to know that when I'm looking innocent, I'm anything but.

I love Hunter, but how am I going to convince him I'm all grown up now?


	4. Cenation

Hunter doesn't schedule me until the following week's Raw, trying to stretch my five show contract as far as he can and giving my ankle a little time to heal. I am an incredibly lucky ducky as it turns out it's just a painful sprain. If it had been broken chances are my short lived WWE career would have been done before it ever really started.

In the meantime, Hunter is sending me to a photo shoot with some of the other wrestlers for Raw Magazine, posters and the WWE website. He figures the more exposure he can get me the better and even though I'm not exactly thrilled, I'm not arguing. At this point I'll do anything short of a beaver shot in a Penthouse layout.

That still doesn't make it any easier for me to open my eyes when the bedside clock goes off at 7:30 Wednesday morning. I am not an early bird. I try to bury my head beneath my pillow but the alarm is loud and strident. I bang the clock into silence and pull the covers back over my head. I'd barely closed my eyes again when the phone rang in my ear. Ahh, what the hell?

I answer the phone, "uh hmmm?"

"Good morning Miss Helmsley, this is your 7:30 courtesy call," a cheerfully chirpy voice says.

What? I didn't order a wake-up call. It only takes me a second to figure out who did.

Hunter.

"OK, thanks," I mumble. I hang up the phone, roll back over.

My cell phone rings.

"Arrrggghh!" I throw the covers back in frustration and snatch my phone from the night stand. I'm half a second from throwing it across the room when I recognize the ringtone. I grit my teeth and answer it.

"What?" I snap.

"Well, good morning to you too, Sunshine." Hunter says. He sounds way too damn cheerful for how early it is.

I groan, "Hunter! It's not even 8 o'clock!"

"I've been up since 5:30 this morning."Hunter tells me.

Showoff.

"I've sent a car to the hotel. It'll take you to Headquarters. It'll be there in 45 minutes. Photo shoot at 10 and then come see me in my office later this afternoon."

"Oh, all right, "I say grumpily and hang up the phone. I knew I should have snuck some laxative into his mocha frappuccino last night.

I take the world's quickest shower, throw on some sweat pants and a t-shirt and strap my ankle brace on. I gingerly test my ankle. It still hurts like a bitch. I toss some work-out clothes into a duffel bag; maybe I'll have time to hit the gym for a light workout after the shoot. I manage to limp to the elevator and head down to the hotel lobby, snagging a poppy seed muffin from the complimentary breakfast buffet as I go by.

The car is nowhere to be seen so I wait by the front door, picking at the muffin and trying to keep weight off of my left ankle as I shift my bag from one shoulder to the other.

Someone grabs the strap of my duffel bag. I turn and, to my horror, see John Cena smiling down at me. Oh my god! My first impulse is to scream in his face and run and hide. I look a hot mess dressed in raggedy sweats, my hair raked back in a messy ponytail and not a trace of makeup on my face. But, it's too late to hide and with my gimpy ankle I'd probably end up tripping and falling flat on my face anyway.

Why didn't anyone tell me he was staying at this hotel?

"Good morning," he says, if he's repulsed by my morning face, at least he hides it well.

"Uh, hi, "I squeak, staring at him open mouthed like an idiot. Ugh, can I please stop doing the Bella Swan routine already?

I might look like a bag lady but he looks damn good. He's dressed in jeans and a grey t-shirt. The fact that he has a shirt on means I don't get to drool over his abs but there's still plenty to get my mouth watering. His shirt is tight across his broad shoulders and his biceps strain the seams of his sleeves. Oh man oh man.

"Can I ask you a favor?" He asks. His gaze is locked on mine and I can see the dark flecks in his blue eyes.

_Anything! Up to and including bearing your children for you! Just ask!_

"Uhm hmmm," I kind of grunt. Raven the witty conversationist strikes again!

He leans an arm against the wall behind me and casually brushes a stray strand of hair out of my face. I can smell his aftershave. It's woodsy, spicy and gives me sexy dreams.

"Are you going to Headquarters? Can I grab a ride with you? I just got in last night and haven't gotten a rental yet."

I glance outside. Damn! Of all times not to have my own car! "Uhm, I don't have a rental either. But Hunter's sending me a car. Do you want to share?" I ask hopefully.

He smiles at me, flashing the cutest dimples. "Absolutely, here, let me help you with that." He takes my bag from me and hoists it over his shoulder.

"How's your ankle feeling?" He asks. He's standing so close I can feel his breath tickling my cheek. Does he have any idea of what he's doing to me or does he just have no concept of personal space?

"Still sore," I admit, trying to hold out my ankle for him to see and almost losing my balance.

"Here, hold my arm. I don't want you to fall." He holds out his arm.

I feel a little giddy as I put my hand on his muscular forearm. It's like laying my hand on a marble statue, only his skin is warm and alive like a sleeping puppy. He grabs my hand and firmly tucks it into the crook of his arm. I suddenly decide my ankle has taken a turn for the worse and I really do need to lean on him to walk.

"So," he says, "have you been summoned to face the wrath of good old Vince for your little stunt on Raw?"

I blink, trying to not stare so obviously at him. I end up looking at his lips instead. They are full and curved just right. I wonder what it would be like to nibble on them.

"N-no" I say, "Hunter tells me that Vince McMahan hasn't even mentioned me. Hunter's sending me to some photo shoot this afternoon for Raw Magazine."

"Me too," Cena says, "I usually hate these things, they're not nearly as glamorous as you'd think. The lights are hot. The studio is usually stuffy and you feel silly posing in front of people but it might be a little more fun if you're going to be there."

I'm smiling so hard my cheeks hurt, hoping I don't have a poppy seed stuck between my teeth or anything. A dark, gleaming limo pulls up outside. Cena nods at it. "I think that's our ride."

I stare. And here I was expecting a Honda Accord at the best. "You think? Uhm…a limo?"

"Hey," he says, opening the door for me, "you're related to the COO. Only the best for Triple H's little cousin."

I don't remember much of what we talked about during the half hour ride to WWE headquarters. I was just thrilled to be alone in the backseat of a limo with just about the most gorgeous man I'd ever laid hands or eyes on.

The ride was over way too fast but maybe it was for the better. Any longer and I might have jumped him during a break in conversation. He helps me out of the limo and we walk into the WWE headquarters.

The building is a lot busier than the first time I visited it. Heavy metal music is blaring from the sound system and giant flat screens play videos of old WWE matches. People greet Cena like he's the captain of the football team and more than a few of them do a double take and stare when they see it's me who's with him. I see whispers behind hands. Oh god, I can already see the rumor mill churning.

John hands me my bag, "Thanks for the ride. I'll see you a little later?"

"Definitely," I say, lingering a moment to watch him go. I've got to remember to thank Hunter for dragging me here the next time I see him.

My first stop is the wardrobe department and I'm greeted by Damon. He's become my best girl friend over the last two days, mostly due to the fact that I am polite and actually treat him like a human being. He's mostly used to people throwing clothes at him complaining about rips and tears and throwing tantrums if things are not done right. The night of my first Raw I enchanted him by asking his advice and actually showing appreciation for his efforts. Since then he's appointed himself my personal stylist and he's absolutely adorable in his mission to make me the hottest piece of ass in the WWE.

"Hello, honey!" he says, greeting me with a big hug before frowning down at the bulky brace on my ankle.

"Oh dear, we're going to have to work around that." He tsks, puttering back to his racks of costumes.

He brings out a leather corset dress that fits like a second skin. I feel a little like Scarlett O'Hara as I hang grimly onto a clothing rack while he yanks and pulls on the laces while exhorting me to 'suck in!'

"Come on Raven, girl! You can do it!" he encourages as I let out my breath and tighten my abdomen as much as I can. I feel like I'm in labor and he's my Lamaze coach.

He finally gets me laced in and steps back, eyeing me with satisfaction. "How does it feel?" he asks.

I gasp a little for breath. My ribs feel like they're in an iron vise. "Like you worked in a medieval torture chamber in a past life." I say.

He gives me an airy little laugh, "Then we got it on right!"

Damon's friend Julian shows up to do my hair and makeup. Damon leads me over by the arm and introduces me with a flourish. "This is the girl I told you about. Is she just gorgeous?"

Julia purses his lips as he looks me over for a moment. Then a large smile slowly breaks over his face.

"Girl, we're gonna knock them dead!"

I'm the last to show up at the shoot and the room falls silent as everyone turns to stare at me. I feel totally self conscious. Damon's friend Julius had dropped by to do my hair and makeup and I feel like I belong in an 80's heavy metal video.

John Cena is the first the greet me, he steps forward with a wide smile. Oh yeah, he's totally checking me out.

"Hey, you look amazing!" he says, "Hey everyone, this is Raven, c'mon, make her feel at home guys."

I recognize most of the people in the room. Sheamus is taller and a lot better looking in person than he looks on TV. He looks me up and down appreciatively but when he speaks his voice is mild and respectful. "Nice to meet you, I hear yer givin' Vince fits already." He says in his soft, Irish lilt. I smile back at him. I like him immediately.

Not so much The Miz who swaggers up to me with his chest puffed out,"Hi, I'm The Miz and that dress would look fantastic crumpled up in a ball next to my bed." He gives me a smarmy grin. Ugh, really?

"Miz, will you stop being such a douchbag?" A.J. Lee says, elbowing past him. She is a bubbly little brunette, cute as a button with friendly brown eyes. "Hi!" she says brightly, bouncing up and shaking my hand. "I'm A.J. Nice to meet you!"

"Hi," I say, glad to finally meet a Diva who doesn't seem to hate me.

"And this is Layla," She says turning toward the other diva in the room.

"Uhm, we've met," I say as Layla stares at me with narrowed eyes.

"Yeah, I've met Little Miss Perfect." she says acidly, "Gee, John, I didn't think your ass kissing would extend to Triple H's cousin."

"Hey, hey, that's uncalled for," John says.

Layla gives me a look like I just had a threesome with her boyfriend and her father and flounces away to the other side of the room.

Darian the WWE photographer arrives. He's a small, nervously thin man wearing oversized black hipster glasses. His assistant quickly sets up a white backdrop and bright lighting and the session begins.

He starts by taking individual shots of each person. It's actually kind of fun to watch as he directs his subjects into their signature poses and coaxes out smiles or scowls of intimidation. When my turn comes he wants me to turn on a 'smoldering' look which I have no idea how to do but then my eyes meet John Cena as he watches me from the back of the room and I must have gotten it right because Darian tells me to "Hold it!' and snaps off what seems like six dozen pictures.

After he's done with me he wants to get a few group shots.

"I'd like to get a few promotional poses with the three divas together please?"

Layla raises her sculpted eyebrows, "Uhm, I don't think so." She says. "I am the WWE Diva's champion and I am not sharing my stage with some newbie."

She gathers up her bag and her Diva's belt and heads toward the door.

"Oh, c'mon, Layla," A.J. calls after her, "Stop being such a bitch!"

Layla tosses her hair,"You think that sucking up to Triple H's cousin is going to get you anywhere A.J.? Come next month, she won't even be here."

Oh really? I step in front of her blocking her way. "Oh, I'll be here, Layla." I inform her, "Vince won't be able to afford to get rid of me."

Layla scowls, "Yeah? Rumor has it Vince can't stand you. Just what do you think you're gonna have to keep him from firing you the first excuse he gets?"

I don't say anything but I looked pointedly at the belt she's holding. Her expression darkens, "Oh don't you _wish_." she practically spits.

She brushes past me and from the corner of my eye I see her reach out. Before I can react, I feel a hard tug on the laces of my dress. There's a snapping sensation and the next thing I know my tight corset suddenly loosens and I can take a deep breath again. The entire dress goes sliding down to my feet. I see Sheamus glance over and me and his eyes pop wide open.

Miz grins, "Dayum!" he chortles.

I let out a little shriek and try to cover up with my hands. I feel my face go scarlet. Not that I'm a super prude or anything, but here I am practically naked in front of half a dozen strangers. I can hear Layla's laughter as she strolls out of the room.

Cena immediately averts his eyes, and whips off his shirt, holding it out to me. What a gentleman! I grab it and pull it on over my head. It's warm from his skin and smells like his aftershave.

"Not cool, Layla!" John shouts out after her.

A.J. picks up my dress. "Don't pay any attention to her," she tells me with a look of sympathy. "She's a bitch to everyone."

"It's OK," I say as I begin gathering up my stuff. John comes over to help.

"That was totally not cool what Layla did."He says.

I wince, "Oh god. I'm so embarrassed."

"Don't worry. You covered up so fast I doubt anyone got a good look at anything." He assures me.

Then he grins and leans close, "but just between you and me…." He glances around then winks at me and mouths, "wow!"

I meet his eyes and I can't help it, despite everything, he makes me smile, the next thing I know we're laughing. And it's a real moment where we're friends and I'm not trying to undress him with my imagination or wondering if he's wearing boxers or briefs or going commando.

I hear the sound of a shutter click and look over to see Darian lowering his camera.

"Now that is a _smoldering_ look." He says to me with a smile.

"Well, I've got to go," John Cena tells me, "But I'll definitely catch you soon."

"OK, "I say, "I'll get the shirt back to you as soon as I can."

"Keep it," he says, heading toward the door, "It looks good on you."

I turn to watch him as he goes.

The man looks just as good going as he does coming.

I 'm so busy watching John Cena's butt that I don't watch where I'm going. I turn and bump into someone's hard chest. The lights in the room suddenly go red. What the hell…? I look up…and up….and up… into a pair of mismatched eyes behind a tangle of dark wavy hair.

Holeeeey crap.

I've seen Kane before but never this close and I've got to tell you, he's a _monster_. Yeah, I know Big Show is bigger by a couple hundred pounds but Show is kinda flabby and ever since he started shaving his head he looks kinda like a giant plump baby.

This guy looks like he's seven feet, three hundred pounds of muscle and sinew. Anyone else that big would look ridiculous in spandex but somehow, it _works_ for him.

He says nothing, just stares at me through his creepy mask, tilting his head. I feel a bit like a steak being eyed by a hungry Rottweiler.

"Uhm, sorry," I say and gingerly sidle past him.

He turns and watches me as I speed walk out of the room. I'm practically sprinting as I dart through the door, which with my rolling gait courtesy of my gimpy ankle, probably makes me look like a longshoreman.

"Hey sweetheart, do fries come with that shake?"

I freeze, then spin around at the corny line and the familiar voice and see my little boy toy leaning against the wall, with that adorable lopsided grin I know so well.

"Shawn!" I practically squeal. He slings an arm around my shoulder and gives me a big kiss on the cheek.

"Hey Hon. I was here on some business and Hunter told me you were going to be here this morning. How do you feel about going out to lunch with this tired old man?"

How do I feel about going from photo shoot with John Cena to lunch with Shawn Michaels?

Oh my, my. Oh, hell yes!

"I'd love to!" I tell him fondly. He's slumming it today, wearing faded jeans, scuffed boots and sporting at least a week's worth of stubble but he still looks adorable to me. I love the comfortable relationship we've built up over the years. I don't know if he's aware of how bad I had it for him when I was a kid but we've got a genuine friendship now, with lots of heavy flirting for sure, but we both know it doesn't mean much, it's just a lot of fun.

Of course, that doesn't mean I'd never hit that if I had a chance...

He leans back and raises his eyebrows when he sees what I'm wearing. "Cena gear, huh? I thought I was the only one who got you hot and bothered, Darlin'." he teases.

I feel my ears go hot, "Uhm, I had a little wardrobe malfunction." I say, "Cena just lent me his shirt."

"Mmmm hmmmm," Shawn says watching my face turn various shades of red."Well, that was nice of him."

He looks at my face for a moment then says in a more serious voice, "Rave, I'm not going to lecture you, I'll leave that job to Hunter, but be careful with Cena."

I give him a confused look, "What are you talking about?" I ask.

Shawn shrugs, "I just have it on good authority, he's got a habit of breaking hearts."

"Oh, well, that's ironic coming from The Heartbreak Kid!" I tease, trying to get him off the subject.

Shawn grins and tips an imaginary cowboy hat, "The one and only!"

I throw on a pair of jeans and Shawn takes me out and feeds me an enormous steak and beer. We have a great time and I'm slightly buzzing by the time he drives me back to WWE Headquarters so I can go see Hunter like I promised.

I've decided I won't complain about the early wake up or Layla or anything at all. In fact I'm in such a good mood I decide I will be sweet as pie to him instead of my usual smart ass self no matter how much he nags and clucks over me. After all, I owe everything that's happened so far to him.

"Hey Hunter!" I sing as I waltz into the office.

He looks up from the paperwork on his desk and a scowl furrows his brow as soon as he sees me. Uh-oh. What did I do now?

He doesn't waste any time as he stands up behind the desk, glaring down at me.

"Just what the hell is going on between you and Cena?" he demands.


	5. The mask

Hunter's glowering at me like I just got caught shoplifting. I can practically see the blood vessels in his temples throbbing. Some things just never change.

"Whatever do you mean?" I say innocently, pretending I don't notice his glare. I flash him my biggest, most melting Bambi eyes.

Hunter _does not _melt. His glare deepens as he points at me like a puppy who's just peed on the carpet, "I mean a lot of people seem to think you've been awfully chummy with him in the last couple of days. Was he in your hotel room last night?"

Oh Hunter, why do you have to be such a fussy old maid? My resolve to behave flies right out the window.

"Yes," I confess in my most contrite sounding voice. "He was, along with C.M. Punk, Sheamus, Randy Orton and Kane. We had a big old gang bang and then we smoked meth and went out and stole cars and killed puppies and robbed little old ladies. I'm so ashamed." I hang my head in shame.

Hunter is silent. I peek at him from below my lashes. He looks _really_ pissed. I quickly look back down. I have to suppress the urge to laugh my ass off.

"Very funny," he finally says, "I'm being serious here. I have enough on my plate with this whole Lesnar thing. I can't worry about you too!"

I shrug and plop down in one of the chairs in front of his desk. I so do not need a babysitter!

"Then don't worry. I'm a big girl, Hunter." I pick up a glass paper weight and begin tossing it from hand to hand. "What is the big deal anyway? You told me to make friends!"

Hunter grabs the paperweight from me and puts it firmly back on the desk, "When I said make friends, I didn't mean John Cena. I know this guy a lot better than you do. He's not your friend. He's a predator."

I am so totally confused, even though I do my best to hide it. Hunter is the second person today to warn me about John Cena. What the hell is wrong with him that I didn't see? Is he secretly a gigolo? Does he like to wear women's underwear? Does he like to sneak into high school locker rooms and play Jerry Sandusky?

"He seems nice enough to me," I say defensively.

"Sure he does," Hunter says, running a tired hand over his hair and sitting back down, "John Cena, the champ, the golden boy. Don't buy it, Rave. The man is an opportunist. He's got a lot of people fooled with his nice guy act but he is a snake who will use you in any way he can. "

Hmmmm, I wouldn't exactly mind being used in various ways by John Cena. I giggle a little at the idea but then see the thunderous expression on Hunter's face and decide not to share this particular thought with him.

"Hunter, you act like I've never met sleazy guys before, which I don't think John Cena is. I can take care of myself." I point out.

"I brought you here. I'm responsible for you. You've already gotten hurt because of me. How do you think I'd feel if I let a scumbag like Cena take advantage of you?" He looks glumly at my ankle brace.

Aww, my heart softens. Hunter has always appointed himself my personal guardian angel and even though it can be annoying as hell, I know it's only because he loves me. He must feel terrible about what happened with Brock Lesnar. I get up, limp around the desk and slip my arms around his neck from behind, giving him a reassuring hug.

"I'm OK, Cuz," I say kissing the top of his head and playfully giving him a noogie. He shrugs me off impatiently.

"Look," he says, "Just don't make me have to beat the shit out of him, ok?"

"Deal," I say and plop back into my chair, hooking a leg over the arm. He seems to notice I'm wearing a John Cena shirt for the first time, scowls and opens his mouth but I interrupt him before he can go on another rant.

"So, you haven't asked me how the photo shoot went yet." I say.

He's still got his mouth open and I can see him visibly struggling between nagging me some more and asking how the shoot went. Finally, with some effort, he asks, "OK, how did it go?"

"Well, it went fine at first. You should see the outfit Damon rigged up for me. I look like I belong in a Motley Crue video! I met some of the other wrestlers, Sheamus, A.J. Lee. "

Hunter nods, "What about Layla? I thought she was scheduled to be at today's shoot as well?"

I pull a face, "You mean the bitchiest bitch who ever bitched? Yeah, she was there."

Hunter raises an eyebrow, doing a pretty good impression of The Rock. "What happened?" he demands.

I raise a hand, trying to stop his clucking before it even began,"It wasn't a big deal so please don't freak out, K? She broke the laces on my dress and it…uh…kinda fell down."

Hunter stares at me, "Fell down? Raven, please tell me you were wearing something underneath?"

I bite my lip, "Uhm…well…it really wasn't a dress made to be worn with underwear... "

Hunter closes his eyes, looking like he's getting a huge migraine, "So, you ended up naked in front of the camera?"

"Well, yeah, just for a second. But Cena gave me his shirt right away, so except for giving the Miz his first look at a naked woman, I don't think it's a big deal."

Hunter's eyes stay closed but he winces.

"Hunter," I say, trying to be cheerful, "C'mon! You and Shawn used to run around backstage buck ass naked back in the attitude days! "

"That was different!" Hunter the hypocrite says. "You're a…."

"A girl?" I demand." Really? You're the one who taught me to never play second fiddle to any guy and you're going to lay that crap on me now? Listen, it's not a big deal! What I want now is a chance to smack the bitch face right off of Layla!"

Before Hunter can answer the office door opens and Shawn pokes his adorable head in.

"Hey Hunter, "he says, "Did you forget you have a meeting with the bookers? They're waiting for you downstairs."

"Shawn!" I appeal to him, "Tell me the truth. Naked's not a big deal, right?"

Shawn's forehead furrows as he looks at Hunter, "Naked? Are we doing that again? I thought we were sticking to strictly PG stuff. Wish you'd told me Hunter, I would have spent more time working out."

"Oh, shut up, Shawn," Hunter says as he wearily gathers his briefcase and heads out the door, "No one wants to see your bare ass on TV."

Hmmmm, well I could beg to differ on that but I've always known just how far to push Hunter so I keep my mouth shut. Shawn wrinkles his cute little nose as he watches Hunter grump off to another boring meeting.

"What's up his ass?" he asks.

I shrug, spinning in my chair. "What isn't up his ass these days? I swear, Shawn, he's been nothing but a drag ever since he married Stephanie."

Shawn rolls his eyes, "Hmmmp, tell me about it." He plops down in the other chair and eyes me speculatively from behind templed fingers, "Soooo, what's this naked talk? And why do I think it has something to do with John Cena?"

I pooch out my bottom lip and blow my hair out of my face,"It is not a big deal! That bitch Layla broke the laces on my dress during the photo shoot and it fell off. Cena tossed me his shirt, I covered up. No big deal."

Shawn laughed, "So, Hunter's just sore about you flashing your goods at Cena, huh? Ah, darlin' I wish I'd been there."

I turn and give him an arch look from beneath my lashes. He reddens a little and hastily amends, "Uh, so I could have seen the look on Cena's face."

I laughed and spin back the other way. It doesn't happen very often, but every now and then I can get under Shawn's skin and make him blush. If only I could get under his clothes as well...

"Seriously, though," I say, "I'd give anything to get that bitch back. I've never done anything to her. She just hates me because I'm Hunter's cousin."

"Well, nothing's stopping you from going after her." Shawn points out, "Interfere in her next match and beat her ass."

"Yeah, there is something stopping me." I say,"I pissed Vince off too and so now I'm limited to a five show, sink or swim contract. Hunter doesn't want to schedule me on every show because he wants to give me some extra time and exposure. I'm pretty much screwed though. Vince isn't going to sign me to an extension unless I end up with the women's belt."

"Hmmm, that does suck..." Shawn says. He looks at me for a second, then says, "How does your ankle really feel? Can you stand up for a second?"

I oblige, standing gingerly on my hurt ankle. He grabs hold of my hands and holds my arms out from my sides, looking me up and down. His blue eyes meet mine and crinkle in a smile, "What do ya say, darlin? Wanna go pick a fight?"

* * *

The backstage area where I'm hiding during Smackdown is as hot as the basement of hell and I'm trying not to sweat through my skin tight outfit. The black mask I'm wearing covers most of my face, with only my eyes and mouth exposed. Damon braided my hair into several thick ropes that lay loose against my shoulders. My ankle is a little sore but Shawn wrapped it tightly and gave me enough pain killers that the pain is little more than a dull throb.

Out in the ring, a Diva's match is going hot and heavy as the bitch Layla is squared off against a perky little number named Kaitlyn. The match is no D.Q. and they go at it for a while with before Layla gets the upper hand and absolutely lays Kaitlyn out with a roundhouse kick to the face. Here's my cue!

Just as Layla goes for the cover, I run down the ramp as the bewildered crowd looks on. They have no idea who this crazy chick in the black cat suit and mask is. I slide in the ring and hit Layla across the back of the neck with a double ax handle that stuns her. I drag her limp body off of Kaitlyn, roll her over and dump Kaitlyn on top of her. The ref has no choice but to make the count and give Kaitlyn the win.

By the time Layla regains her senses and gets groggily to her feet, I'm all the way back to the stage. She stares at me, confused. I point a finger at her, then turn and run backstage. I only have a few minutes before Hunter blows his shit.

I run past startled stagehands, producers and other backstage crew. Shawn is supposed to be waiting for me in an unused dressing room. I round the corner full tilt and run straight into a human wall. Damn! I catch myself just before I fall to the floor and look up at all seven feet of Kane.

"Uh, sorry," I say. Why the hell does this creep keep sneaking up on me like this? Can't he be broody and angry somewhere else?

Kane is staring at me with those mismatched eyes and despite myself, I feel a little chill run through me. I know it sounds stupid but if you were ever face to face with him you'd feel a fucking chill too! He tilts his head like a fascinated dog and reaches out, touching my mask with one huge finger.

"WHO THE FUCK WAS THAT?" I hear someone bellow.

Uh-oh, I hear a door bang open somewhere and Hunter storming out of his office and he definitely does NOT sound happy.

"Uh, don't mean to be rude, but I gotta go!" I sidle around Kane and dart away. I don't see him turn to watch me go but I can sure feel his eyes burning a hole in my back.

I finally see the dressing room and Shawn peeking anxiously out the door. When he sees me he throws the door open and waves at me frantically.

"Come on!" he urges.

He slams the door behind me and locks it as I rip off the mask and pull the braids out of my hair. He helps me unzip the skin tight outfit and I peel out of it like a snake shedding its skin. I'm wearing nothing but a bra and underwear but this is not the time for modesty. He tosses me my jeans and a t-shirt just as someone pounds on the door.

"Hey! Who's in there! Open up! God damn it, open up!"

Oh crap. Hunter!

I'm wiggling into my jeans when Hunter gives up on trying to turn the door knob and slams himself against the door. I see the flimsy door jump on its hinges. Crap!

Shawn is stuffing my mask and outfit into a gym bag. He throws me an _oh shit_ look. A couple of more hits and Hunter is going to crash in on us like the wrath of God.

I toss my shirt on the floor, grab the gym bag and stuff it behind the couch. Before Shawn can even question what I'm going to do I grab him, push him back onto the couch and begin making out with him.

And just in time. The door slams open so hard the doorknob embeds into the wall. There is a momentary silence, then.

"WHAT IN THE BLUE FUCK?!"

Shawn and I spring apart, looking guiltily at Hunter standing in the doorway with a gaggle of backstage crew behind him, gawking at us.

We scramble to our feet, both of us breathing hard. I grab my shirt and yank it over my head.

Hunter is so furious he can't even talk. His face is purple. God, please don't let him drop dead of a heart attack!

"Uh, Hunter, I can explain..."Shawn says, darting a glance at me. I try my best to look nervous and scared, which isn't really that hard in this situation.

"Shut your god damned mouth," Hunter says pointing a trembling finger at Shawn. "I've got business to take care of right now, we've got an intruder on the premises, but I will deal with the two of you later!" He rakes me with a patented Hunter Hearst Helmsley glare and turns barking orders.

"I want that masked girl found, now!"

He stomps away.

Shawn turns to look at me and I give him an apologetic smile, "Sorry," I say, "It was all I could think of at the time."

His gives me one of those crooked grins that melts my heart. "Hey, I've had worse things happen to me."

"Yeah, " I say, "But now Hunter's royally pissed at you."

Shawn laughs, "That's nothing new either. And it worked, you've got an in. We'll have that Diva's belt on you in no time!"

I pick up the gym bag and we walk out of the room.

"Hello Raven," a deep voice says from behind us. I freeze, oh no...

We turn to see John Cena leaning against the wall, his muscular arms crossed over his chest.

"Hi John," I say weakly.

His hazel eyes flick over to Shawn, sizing him up. "Didn't know you two were an item." he remarks.

Shawn looks at him coolly before slinging a casual arm around my shoulders. "Didn't know I had to run it by you." he says. I am squirming in misery. This has got to be the worst timing ever.

John Cena straightens up, "Well, guess I'll see you around Raven." he says to me before turning and walking away. I want to run after him, throw myself at his feet, tell him 'no! no! it's all a misunderstanding!' Please come back and I will build a shrine to your abs and worship them every day!

Instead, I just watch him go. Ugh, I've blown my chance! I'm so bummed I can't even enjoy the fact it's the first time I've tongue kissed Shawn Michael.

"Hey," Shawn says, giving me a little squeeze. "You OK?"

I give him a weak smile. "Yeah,"

He sees right through me, "Raven," he says sternly, sounding way too much like Hunter for my comfort, "remember what I told you about Cena?"

I sigh, "Yes, Cena, bad. Bad Cena."

"Good girl," he says, "_I'll_ date you before I let Cena get you."

That makes me smile, "Promise?" I tease.

He grins, looks at his watch, "Hey, are you hungry? I'm starving. Let's go grab a beer and a burger. We need to plan what we're going to do on Raw! Let's try to make Hunter say 'fuck' on live TV!"

As we head out of the arena I feel a prickly feeling on the base of my neck, as if someone was staring at me. I look back. I'm not sure, but I swear I see a seven foot tall figure and a glimpse of red mask lurking in the shadows, watching us as we leave.


End file.
